


It's Love, Actually

by ardentaislinn



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, FitzSimmons Secret Santa, Love Actually AU, the Colin Firth story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 13:30:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2813696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ardentaislinn/pseuds/ardentaislinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fitz rents an isolated country house to finally work on his novel. Unfortunately, his housekeeper proves VERY distracting...</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Love, Actually

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bookishandbossy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookishandbossy/gifts).



Fitz dropped his duffle bag and stared at the house that would be his home for the next month. It was a cosy cottage; the twisting vines covering the haphazard stone walls and unruly garden gave it an old-world charm that he found irresistible.

It was situated deep in the English countryside, and Fitz was desperately hoping the isolation would finally spur his muse. He'd written only a few pages of his second novel in the last few months, and had been unable to find inspiration to continue. It was a love story, and he couldn't help but wonder if it was a mistake to focus his book on something he had so little experience with. He guessed he'd just have to find out.

"It's perfect," he told the landlady who had been watching him nervously during his inspection of the house. With worn boots and a large red winter jacket, she was a quintessential lifelong country resident. She broke into a relieved grin at his words.

"The live-in housekeeper you requested will arrive tomorrow. We've used her before and she's very good. Diligent, unobtrusive."

Fitz was glad. He'd wanted no distractions while he was working, and household chores were not something he wanted to expend any brainpower on.

"If you need anything or have any problems, my number is on the fridge," she continued. She handed him the keys, and with a final nod she traipsed back to her mud-spattered car.

Fitz took a moment to breathe in the crisp, clean country air, his breath visible as he exhaled, and listen to the sounds of the local wildlife. For the first time, he actually thought his impulsive booking of this property - spending the last of his publisher’s advance in the process - may have actually been the right decision.

With a final look around at the open countryside surrounding him, Fitz steeled himself and entered the house.

`

The next morning, after a restful night but not nearly enough of a sleep in, Fitz woke. He blinked for a few long, sleep-fuzzed moments trying to figure out what it was that had pulled him from slumber.

Until a muffled crash sounded from the kitchen, and an indistinct voice followed immediately after.

He stumbled out of bed and looked around for a weapon. Finding nothing, he grabbed his laptop and held it up in as threatening a manner as he could as he exited his bedroom and walked into the lounge side of the open plan kitchen/lounge room.

The first thing he noticed about his intruder was that she was a she. The second thing was that she appeared to be doing his dishes. And the third, rather belatedly, was that she was extremely pretty.

"Hello," he said, clutching his laptop to his chest in a way the he hoped disguised the fact that he had been intending to use it as a weapon a moment before.

The woman looked up and gave him a blinding smile. Fitz's heart thumped painfully in his chest. _Oh dear._

"Hi, I'm Jemma Simmons. Your housekeeper."

Oh, right, of course. He'd forgotten about that. This was not the matronly older woman he had been expecting.

Her gaze drifted down. As she quirked an eyebrow, Fitz remembered that he always slept in his boxers. And nothing else.

He blushed and tried to adjust his laptop so that it covered as much of him as possible.

"Fitz,” he said, gesturing to himself. “Sorry. I didn't expect company."

Jemma frowned. "The landlady didn't tell you I was coming?"

"Yes, I just didn't expect you so early." Fitz shuffled back a few paces towards his room, longingly picturing his clothes. Any clothes.

"It's after ten," she said as if she were correcting him.

"Like I said. Early." He grinned and she returned it with another smile. He was already embarrassingly sure he would do anything to see that smile again.

“I’ll just…,” he pointed to the room behind him and fled, shutting the door decisively behind himself. This was very _not good_.

`

Sometime later, Fitz emerged from his room, clothed and feeling more prepared to face his pretty housekeeper. This was a normal thing. People shared houses all the time.  He could do this.

“Tea?” she asked as soon as he stepped out of his room.

“Errrr...thanks,” he said at the unexpected gesture. She poured him a cup and they both sat at the table. He stared awkwardly at the cup in his hands, then the table, then the wall behind her head. He wasn’t quite able to meet her eye. He was afraid of what might happen if he did.

“So, since we’ll be living together, I thought you might want to lay some ground rules,” she said.

“Right, sure. Uh,” he wracked his brain for any thought that was mildly coherent. “Don’t disturb me while I’m working, I guess. I don’t think you’d want to see the state of my room, so stay out of there. And...umm...you have to join me for dinner. If you want. No pressure.” Well, it wasn’t smooth, but at least he managed to string some sentences together. He had also kind of (accidentally?) asked her on a date.

Jemma’s face lit up. “That’s easy enough. And it will be nice to have some company around here. It’s so isolated. Last time the guy staying here refused to speak two words to me the entire duration of our stay. It lasted a whole month.”

Fitz choked out a laugh. “That’s dedication.”

She smiled, he thought a little shyly. “You seem nice, though. I’m glad.”

Fitz felt his face heat and desperately searched for a change in topic. “Uh, so you do this a lot? Housekeep?”

She shrugged. “It passes the time between field placements.”

“Field placements?”

“I’m a doctor. I volunteer for Médecins Sans Frontières, Doctors Without Borders. Mostly with women that have been victims of rape and mutilation. But I need somewhere to stay while I’m gone, so by taking jobs like this and housesitting work I get some pay and a place to crash until I fly out again.”

Oh dear. She was bright and selfless, too. He was in real trouble.

“That’s very admirable.”

“It’s my calling,” she replied softly.

He asked her a little more about her job as they finished their tea. Fitz was mesmerised by the passion that poured out of her as she spoke. He’d never met someone so excited by their job; so devoted to a cause.

The tea was long since finished when Jemma apparently realised she had some work to do. She whisked his cup away and began washing them. Trying to pretend to himself that he wasn’t disappointed, Fitz went back into his room to retrieve his laptop and tried to remember what he was meant to be writing that day,

When he stepped out again, he caught sight of her, lit by the morning sunlight streaming in through the window as she stood on a chair and stretched her tiny body up as far as it would go to reach a cobweb in the far corner. The part of his brain that was always writing and rewriting suddenly stilled for a moment as he watched her. Then, it sped into overdrive as his novel rearranged itself in his head and suddenly coalesced into a coherent and compelling narrative. The light had switched on, and he finally had the drive and motivation he had been waiting for all these months.

He sat immediately at his desk and opened his laptop, clicking at the keys as soon as the document appeared. He vaguely heard her leave the room, giving him peace. For once, the words flowed. Fitz was actually writing, and it was _good_. He told himself that it was the cottage, the quiet, having got away from it all. But he knew the real reason. He had a muse. _Her._

Not that he’d tell her that. But at least he was finally on the right track.

Cups of tea appeared at his elbow at regular intervals and Fitz sucked them down as he kept typing.

Days blurred into weeks. Christmas neared. The air grew chilled and snow began to coat the ground and leaves on the trees. Jemma kept him in tea and food as he wrote during the day. He found the sound of her puttering around behind him quite comforting.

And every night she would cook dinner (sometimes with his help), and they would share it, often by a roaring fire. They talked about any and everything. Her about her work and family; him about his childhood and writing struggles.

Fitz couldn’t help but think it was a practically perfect life. Except, of course, when he had to get into a cold and empty bed at the end of each day. But that was secondary to how much he was genuinely enjoying her company.

`

Towards the end of their stay, Fitz was through a large chunk of his novel. Every Sunday, he had got into the habit of editing what he had written during the week, richening the words as he gained a deeper understanding of his text.

He had decided to work outside for once on one of the few clear days they had had. No sense in wasting the sunshine, weak though it was. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Jemma walking towards him with a mug in each hand, carefully picking her way over the uneven ground.

His heart swelled, as it often did in her presence. He'd become used to it, now. The feeling was just a dull ache most of the time. Until she looked at him and smiled and then it would overwhelm him.

He was so distracted by her that he barely noticed the light breeze drifting over them. And he definitely didn't register what it might mean for the pages of loose paper he had spread in front of him. He heard a fluttering sound, but it wasn't until he saw Jemma freeze a few steps away from him, her eyes wide as they trained towards to lake, that he realised what had happened.

Fitz stood quickly with a groan, watching the day's work tumble into the lake. It was an irritant more than anything, but he hated to waste his own time. Served him right for staring at his housekeeper, if he was honest.

But then the housekeeper in question was rushing in the direction of the lake, tea abandoned. Fitz tried to yell at her to stop, but the words got stuck in his throat as she tore her jumper off, leaving herself in just a sensible cotton bra. His mouth went dry at the sight of all that bare skin.

Then, she reached the lake and was shimmying out of her jeans. It was then that sanity returned to Fitz and he began to chase her.

"Please stop, it's not important." But she wasn't listening. Soon enough she was nearly naked and diving into the lake with an elegant form. "It's shit anyway," he murmured faintly.

Her head popped up from beneath the ripples in the water caused by her entrance. She grinned at him once, before she set about collecting the bits of paper floating on top of the lake.

Fitz sighed. If she was going to do this for him, he really should help.

He shucked off his jeans and jumper, but left himself in his t-shirt. She'd already seen his bare chest once. That was enough embarrassment for one lifetime.

"Be careful, it's cold," she warned him. Fitz shrugged internally. She seemed to be doing fine, so how cold could it really be?

_Freezing_ , as it turned out. The shock of it expelled all the air from his lungs as soon as he hit the surface. He came up spluttering and shivering.

"No novel is worth this," he spat out. Jemma just laughed.

"You're Scottish, you're meant to be used to these ridiculous temperatures!"

"Usually I am better prepared for them. And not in a lake in the middle of winter." She laughed again, and Fitz figured it was worth the suffering to hear that sound.

They both started to paddle around, collecting the paper. It at least kept him marginally warmer.

After much laughter and chattering teeth, the two of them made their way inside with bundles of sopping paper under their arms. They left them spread by the fire to dry off as they changed into dry robes to do the same.  Fitz was already warming himself near the flames when Jemma exited her room wrapped in a fluffy blue robe and drying her hair.

It was so ridiculously domestic that Fitz was struggling to concentrate.

"I'm going to miss you when we go," he blurted out, then immediately regretted it.

"Same," was all she said, but she held his gaze as her eyes softened. Was that a signal? Fitz had no idea. Best to assume it wasn't.

"I'll give you a lift to the airport tomorrow," he said instead. Jemma's eyes grew a little sad but she nodded.

He went to go around her, make them some tea, but she moved the same direction at the same time. He bumped into her, feeling himself blush at his own awkwardness and her proximity. He took a breath, intending to calm himself, but instead was hit with her fresh scent. His blood rushed south and he froze. Jemma took the opportunity to move around him, giving him a tight smile as she did so.

Fitz squeezed his eyes shut for just a moment, reminding himself that she would be gone soon.

It was Christmas Eve tomorrow. Fitz was leaving to make his way home to his mother, so he had agreed to drop her at the airport on the way. She was heading off to another field placement.

Just as well. It never would have worked between them, anyway.

At least, that's what he told himself.

`

The day dawned and the ride to the airport was fraught with the silence of unsaid things. Fitz wanted to tell her about how he felt, but couldn't bring himself to get the words out. Chances are it wouldn't change a thing.

He couldn't help sneaking looks at her when she wasn't looking, though. He would miss her face, her smile. He wanted to memorise it. Until he glanced at her once too often and their gazes collided. Fitz felt the heat rise to his face as he looked determinedly back to the road.

He had the impression that something was on the tip of Jemma's tongue, too. But whatever it was that she wanted to say never left her lips.

It wasn't until they were standing in the drop off zone that she said anything at all. "I do hope we will see each other again."

His heart squeezed painfully in his chest. "Same," he whispered. "So much."

Her eyes were sad as she smiled. And then she was gone, striding towards the terminal. He'd never felt quite so empty. It was hard to know how lonely you felt until you weren't for a time.

He hadn't stopped thinking about her since she left. It had taken all of ten minutes after she'd walked into the airport for him to realise he had simply been afraid. He should have taken the chance and said something while he could. Now, he'd have to live with the regret for what could have been.

He arrived on his mother's doorstep for Christmas in much lower spirits than unusual. He wanted to be with Jemma, wherever in the world she was. He at least wanted to know whether she felt even remotely the same.

He rang the doorbell, breathing in the cool evening air and rubbing his gloved hands together for warmth. His mind, as it had often done over the last few hours, drifted back to his time with Jemma.

He'd never been happier. And he had a distinct feeling that she'd been happy, too. And really, it was Christmas. Shouldn't he be with the person that made him happiest?

By the time his mother threw open the door, Fitz had made his decision.

"Leo!" She cried happily at the sight of him.

Fitz smiled and gave her a tight hug, suddenly feeling a spring in his step.

"Mum, I hate to do this to you, but can you drive me to the airport? I have somewhere I need to be."

She got a knowing look on her face. "Only if it's for love," she told him, reaching for her coat.

Fitz grinned. "Don't worry, it is."

`

If someone had told Fitz not long ago that he would spend his Christmas morning traipsing across a dusty plain somewhere in Africa in pursuit of a woman, Fitz would have thought them mad. Yet, here he was. Dirty, sweaty and tired, but smiling with anticipation.

He caught sight of the camp in the distance and picked up his pace. Soon enough he was standing outside a makeshift hut that the guide he had found swore contained the English lady doctor. He was about to knock on the rickety door when it swung inwards revealing just the woman he had been searching for.

"Fitz?" She asked, her face a mask of shock.

"Merry Christmas?" he said hesitantly.

She let out a choked laugh, then threw herself into his arms. He held her tight, breathing in her presence.

"I wrote you a letter when I was on the plane," she told him, searching for it in her pockets. Fitz reluctantly released her.

"Wait, before you show me, I've got something to say." She paused, then nodded, looking up at him with a vulnerable kind of hope. It gave him the courage to continue, since it mirrored his feelings almost exactly. "It's Christmas, a time to take chances. So, I thought I'd tell you that I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you. I'd never ask you to give up your calling, but thankfully writing is a thing you can do almost anywhere. So, if you'll let me, I'll follow you to the ends of the earth for the rest of my days."

He stopped, and waited. Jemma hadn't said a word, hadn't moved. His heart was fluttering anxiously in his chest.

And then she grinned a grin so bright it rivalled the desert sun.

"Oh, Fitz," was all she said as she handed him the letter. He opened it carefully, not much caring about the words until his eyes skimmed across the page and saw the words she’d so carefully written. Words that perfectly echoed the sentiment of those he had just spoken. His heart swelled.

"So that's a yes?" he breathed when he finally looked up at her again. She nodded, tears filling her eyes and unable to hold back her smile. Fitz felt his heart somersault joyfully in his chest.

Lightning crackled through his veins as touched her, drawing her into his embrace. He cupped her cheek brushing his thumb over her lips. She tilted her face up in invitation, which Fitz accepted gladly. Their lips finally met, light as the brush of a feather, then firmer as they both got carried away.

It was the first kiss of the rest of their lives.


End file.
